


't Is lang geleden

by webecamefriendsbymistake (mvsicbookfrxndom)



Category: Men's Football RPF, Real Person Fiction, Sports RPF
Genre: Canon Timeline, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-11 23:58:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19120375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mvsicbookfrxndom/pseuds/webecamefriendsbymistake
Summary: “Long time no see / Long time wondering what you were doing, who you were seeing”- Soko





	1. RPF Disclaimer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liefde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liefde/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Ik hou van u](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17454638) by [liefde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liefde/pseuds/liefde). 



> Yes, I’m a ride-or-die Liverpool fan. Yes, I have a soft spot for Spurs because of the beautiful ships the club has blessed me with, such as this one. And yes, I think Jan Vertonghen is the best non-Liverpool CB in Europe. In fact, he and Mousa are two of my favorite ever players of this sport. It’s what it’s.
> 
> Also, maybe some of you are over here from my Salah/Lovren fic thinking, “what the actual heck are you doing, writing another multiple-chapter fic when you haven’t logged into this account in a year and haven’t updated that fic in that time, you madlad???” Well, don’t you worry, I’m going to be updating that soon, after a freaking calendar year of inactivity, like the dumb ho I am. Yeet.
> 
> (Title is “long time no see” in Flemish, according to liefde, who is actually Flemish!)

Disclaimer! [Here is the situation with this fic and one of the only other Jan & Mousa fics on this site, in the comment section.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17454638/chapters/45260329#comments) This explains the similarity, concept-wise, between my fic and liefde’s, Ik hou van u (and why I haven’t, as of now, gifted it to her/him/them).

[One thousandth EDIT: It has been gifted! Thank you so much for your understanding, liefde! There’s a lot in store for this fic and I hope you enjoy what comes next!! <3

Also, although everything has been definitively resolved, I am leaving the text of the original disclaimer completely untouched for all readers to see. I am all about transparency! :) ]

I hadn’t actually read her/his/their fic before writing mine. One of my friends on [tumblr](https://mvsicbookfrxndom.tumblr.com/#_=_), who’s as passionate a Spurs fan as I am a Liverpool fan, sent me [this masterpost of Jan & Mousa moments](https://allthatconfetti.livejournal.com/5646.html), in order to convince me to ship them. She knows me really well, and understands my motives of writing RPF (which I explain after the dashes below), and that I love football/soccer ships and am always looking for new ones. This was right after Tottenham beat Ajax to get to the CL final, because our teams would be playing against each other and she knew how much I love the way Jan plays, so I have a soft spot for him (I play with a defense-oriented style, and the cleanliness with which he moves is inspiring). In her words, “I don’t want you to feel too sad when Spurs destroy Liverpool on June 1st.”

After reading the masterpost, I was definitely convinced that this was a great ship and my fic-writing side popped out, whispering at me to write. While I was thinking of how to write them and where to go with the fic, I saw [this interview](https://youtube.com/watch?v=GgyGv5HgECM). In it, Jan reiterates that they’ve known each other since their childhood, like the masterpost says. I thought that was really adorable and special since not many footballers/soccer players know each other that young and end up playing together. Because of that unique aspect of their relationship, I wanted to capitalize on that in the fic I’d write.

I always write football/soccer fics beginning from a little bit of context / a scene to set the scene, then a scene when the two players meet for the first time, then exploring the nuances of their relationship. This is evident in the first chapter of [my other football/soccer RPF](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15210755). I wasn’t planning to change that in this fic, which is why it is the way it is. I wanted, as in my other fic, to be as true to reality as possible and then adding the fanfic part of it with the romance and stuff.

After publishing the first chapter yesterday, I wanted to read what else was out there for these two and that’s when I saw Ik hou van u. When I read it, I saw we had a similar concept and [commented](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17454638/chapters/45260329#comments), to which she/he/they replied, and then I replied to her/his/their reply. That shows her/his/their perspective/opinion on my fic and its existence.

You might be wondering, why am I explaining all of this? I just want to clarify and reiterate that I absolutely, 100% did not mean to copy liefde’s idea at all, we just both happened to have the same one, and so I wanted to explicate my thought process for how I began writing this and where my ideas came from. My fic is also completely from hers/his/theirs besides the idea of starting at where they meet and continuing with their relationship through time. That is the only similarity but it’s still significant enough that of course I want to mention it!

Now on to our regularly scheduled programming.

——————

This is a message I now put as the first chapter of all my fanfictions that involve shipping real life people. 

This is a work of FICTION. It is based off of real people and events, but do not take anything I put in here as gospel. I have taken many artistic liberties with the events that are in this story.

I put a lot of effort (thorough research and the like) into making the story as realistic as possible, but I mean absolutely no disrespect to anyone involved in the plot of this story. I do not mean to be a toxic fan by writing this story, forcing my false opinion of “yOu mUST bE tOgEtHeR pLaToNiC LoVe dOeSn’T eXiSt” on these awesome people. I am aware that both of these men have beautiful families and are in happy, loving relationships with wives and children, all of whom I admire and deeply respect, and I do not mean to erase that by writing this.

I am also aware that as far as I know, they are heterosexual, and I don’t mean to disregard or change that by writing this story. I also don’t mean to make their real-life, canon closeness to each other automatically gay and/or romantic, but I write it as such because who am I kidding, they’re so adorable and I can’t help myself. 

This is all for fun! I enjoy writing these people as characters, examining their careers and personalities and fleshing out my interpretations of their actions. It helps me improve my writing, and I write about real people specifically because it’s my little tribute to how much I care about what they do. (In this case, their amazing skills on a football/soccer pitch! And also I write ‘football/soccer’ in my authors notes for ease of understanding for readers in all countries, but call the sport ‘football,’ and only that, in my fics.) Their reality — the real people and their real experiences — also gives me a sort of beginning point that I can build off of when I write the fiction.

That is all. I hope you enjoy reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it! Please leave some kudos and comments below, and hit me up on my [tumblr](https://mvsicbookfrxndom.tumblr.com/#_=_)! I love talking to people about football/soccer and absolutely anything else happening in your lives. <3


	2. March 1998 — Beginning

“Sweetheart, where have you been?” 

He winced when he heard the sound of the door followed by his mother’s call from the kitchen. He hadn’t meant to close the front door so loudly, but he wasn’t trying to sneak in either. He was almost positive that she knew that he was out. Maybe she didn’t know exactly where he was, but she should have been able to guess by now. She had nothing to worry about. He’d tell his mom that if she asked.

He pulled off his trainers so they wouldn’t streak the tile. He could smell waterzooi cooking in the kitchen and heard his stomach growl in excitement. He’d been out on the streets for a while and couldn’t wait to eat. 

Following his nose, he went into the kitchen and was met with the sight of a table set for three. His father was sitting at one of the seats, reading a newspaper as usual. He caught sight of his mother at the stove. She didn’t look angry, just concerned. That was a little assuring. He knew she wouldn’t get too mad, but also knew there was a chance she’d get a little annoyed. “I was at the pitch playing football,” he said, holding himself back from adding a snarky “as usual” at the end of the statement. She knew where he meant by “the field.” In the city, there weren’t too many open fields suitable for playing football, especially not one of grass, but he’d found a small one near the house and took advantage of it, practicing his dribbling with any free time he got outside of school. It was in essence a parking lot, with concrete pavement that made a satisfying slapping noise against the soles of his feet when he ran around it. “The weather is getting better so I got excited,” he added for good measure.

She smiled. He was happy to see that smile light up her face so he smiled too. “Dinner’s ready so take a seat,” she said, and he did of course. The family sat down, prayed, and began to eat. His father was talking about something he had read in the newspaper about Mali but he wasn’t really listening until he heard his name.

“Mousa?” his father repeated when he didn’t answer the first time. “Your mother and I have been talking to each other about something and we wanted to ask you some questions.”

This was new. He didn’t know what to expect. “What is it?”

“How passionate are you about football? You don’t watch it on television so we aren’t sure.”

Mousa laughed a bit because football isn’t what he thought they’d be talking about at all. He assumed they’d be talking about his grades because he hadn’t done so well on his latest math test but he didn’t see the conversation going in that direction, which was relieving. “Watching football is boring. But playing it is so fun. I love playing. So I’m really passionate I guess.”

His parents locked eyes across the table and he looked back and forth between them. He could see that they were having some sort of conversation with his eyes, which was both impressive and concerning. “If you could play football as a career, would you? It would be difficult and you’d have to practice a lot. Would all that time and effort be worth it for you?”

Mousa had to think a little about that one. He hadn’t ever thought of the future like that. What did he want to do with the rest of his life? It was a pretty big question for a ten-year-old. He put his hand on his chin so his parents knew he was thinking, and they watched him patiently. Playing football and making money doing it really would be a dream come true. He knew it wouldn’t be easy at all, because there were a lot of boys just like him who loved to play and who were probably better. But he also knew that the more he played, the better he could eventually become. He imagined playing on a professional pitch and bossing the opposition like he did when he played with the neighborhood boys. That would be really fun and exciting. He’d make sure to make the game exciting for fans, not boring. “I would love that,” he replied simply.

His parents did that eye-contact-conversation thing again. “Are you sure? Even with the work you’ll have to put in?” his father emphasized.

“Yes,” Mousa said, with growing confidence. “I’m positive.” And he was.

His dad smiled widely when he heard this. “I’m glad to hear you’re so confident, son. There’s a youth football club a little ways away that you could play at, and if you do well there, you could rise through the club ranks and eventually play in the first team. I’ve seen you play and I know you’re a hard worker with a lot of potential. But we’d have to move out of Antwerp and to that area because it’s a little too far from here to drive back and forth every day. Are you okay with that? How does that sound?” 

Mousa thought about this. He’d miss his friends from school and the neighborhood boys he played football with. But he figured, when — not if, he was too confident in himself and his abilities for doubt — he became really successful, they’d see him again on their television. That would be amazing. Imagine that!

“That sounds great,” he decided firmly.

“Great!” His mom clapped her hands together. “The season starts in June, and we’ll be moving after the school year is over. So you have some time to say goodbye to everyone.”

“Thank you,” he told the both of them. “I’m excited to play professionally.”

His father shook his shoulder good-naturedly. “That’s my boy! I’m proud of you, this is the spirit I want to see in you. Just you wait, this is the beginning of something great. Now, your math test, on the other hand...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note for a detail in this chapter: In real life, Mousa’s family did actually have to move from his childhood home in order for him to play at a youth team. Also, the tone of this is a little different from my usual writing, because I’m trying to write from the perspective of a ten-year-old, so you’ll probably see an evolution in the writing as time passes.


	3. June 1998 — Promising

“We’re here.”

The car rolls up to a sidewalk leading to a large grass pitch. The sun is high and reflects off of the grass, making it a luminous green. It’s quite a sight, and Mousa’s heartbeat speeds up. What a cool pitch! He hasn’t played often on grass before but he can’t wait to get that pristine grass under his feet and introduce it to the power of the beautiful game.

He thinks about how he’s feeling, in this very moment, so he can remember it later. His father’s words from some months ago ricochet around his head. “This is the beginning of something great.” It’s a daunting sentence, one full of promise, but which also reminds him of what’s at stake if he doesn’t succeed. They’ve moved, to an entire other part of Belgium, for him to play someplace unfamiliar. He supposes he should feel scared because of all of this, or excited, or anxious, or _something_.

But he doesn’t. He feels a sense of anticipation for what is coming. He wants to see how he can compare to the rest of these boys, who have already practiced professionally and who know each other, besides the other newbies like him. And if he isn’t that good now? You bet he’s going to work harder than all of them to get to their level, and then better.

“How do you feel, honey?” his mom asks, breaking his train of thought. “Don’t feel scared.”

“I’m not scared!” Mousa insists, a little proud of himself because it isn’t even a lie.

“I know you aren’t!” his dad says confidently. “You will do great today, I already know it. Go out there and do what you do best. We’re going around to the front desk to sign you in, but they told us we can just drop you off here. We’ll pick you up at 2.”

Mousa hops out of the car with a wave to his parents, and walks down the sidewalk to the gate that separates that gleaming pitch from the rest of the world. When he turns around, the car is gone.

Okay. So this is it, then. He pushes the gate and it swings open.

Before he’s even taken three more steps and rounded the corner, he sees a ball roll to a stop almost at his feet. He looks up to see where it came from but the sun is glaring so bright that he can’t really see anything, so he looks back down at the ball. Well, time to do what he does best.

He flicks the ball up so he can bounce it a few times on his knees, then does a few more tricks. His eyes are laser focused on the ball, until he sees a human-shaped shadow fall over the ball and his feet, and looks up. The ball hits the ground and bounces forward, with each bounce losing a bit of height. It hits a boot-clad toe that flicks it up into the arms of the shadow.

He’s face-to-face with a boy who looks his age. The boy is Mousa’s height and has very blue eyes. His messy reddish brown hair and pale skin reflect the sun almost as good as the grass, which is a really surprising thought to come to his mind, but it’s also funny so he laughs. That part, he does without thinking. Not the smartest thing in the world.

The boy scowls, his arms tightening around the ball, and his blue eyes narrow a little. “What’s so funny?”

_Oops_ , Mousa thinks. His football escapade isn’t really off to a great start. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh.” Mousa has now mentally dubbed this stranger Sunshine, which is ironic because of the scowl on his face. It’s also even funnier because of Mousa’s initial thought of Sunshine reflecting the sunshine, and he almost laughs again. This time, though, he fortunately has enough foresight not to dig himself in a deeper hole than he’s already in. “I just...took your ball and it’s my first day, I don’t even know who you are—“

To his surprise, Sunshine’s frown slowly turns upside down into a genuine and warm smile. It brightens his whole face. _Sunshine isn’t actually a bad nickname_ , Mousa thinks, proud of the accuracy of his first impression. “As long as you aren’t being mean, I don’t mind that you laughed.” He pauses, and Mousa sees his cheeks begin to flush. “I like laughing.”

“Me too!” Mousa agrees happily, and smiles back.

“Do you want to follow me?” he asks in a quiet voice. “I can take you to the training ground.”

“Lead the way.”

Sunshine turns around and starts walking forward to round the corner, then bashfully turns back to see if Mousa’s following. He is, but he walks a little faster after that so they can walk side by side. It’s silent enough that he’s a little concerned about it. Are newcomers disliked around here? If he was Sunshine, he’d ask lots of questions because he likes meeting new people. Maybe it’s just Sunshine himself, and not everyone in general? He steals a glance to his right and sees Sunshine quickly duck his head and walk a little quicker. He turns back to his front, trying to pay special attention to the corner of his eye. Sure enough, Sunshine’s blue eyes are on him again, although he’s trying to be discreet, he can tell from his body language. Mousa grins and quickly turns again so they lock eyes.

“What’s your name?” Mousa asks, but the sentence cuts off kind of quickly because the sentence almost was “what’s your name, sunshine?” which would have been super weird so he’s relieved that didn’t pop out of his mouth.

Sunshine turns forward and points to a group of players dribbling, “That’s the rest of the team, and I’m—“

“JAN! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” one of the boys calls in their direction.

“Come on,” Sunshine — no, Jan — says, and starts jogging towards the group. Mousa jogs over with him. Jan stops and tosses the ball over to the boy who called for him, and Mousa taps him on the shoulder quickly.

“I’m going to go talk to the gaffer,” he tells Jan, and Jan nods before turning back to his training partner. Mousa heads over to the gaffer, tells him about who he is, and that’s when his first day of actual youth football begins.

It goes by in a blur. He’s relieved to see that he runs as fast as the others, is as good as the others at dribbling, and doesn’t miss more practice penalty shots than everyone else. He measures up, and he is proud, especially when the defenders try to take the ball from him, tackling him in barely legal ways, and he still comes out with the ball on the other side of the midfield. He tries not to smile too widely when that happens, especially when he spots the gaffer’s impressed facial expression.

The whistle blows, and the gaffer shouts, “See you all tomorrow!” All the players file off the pitch and towards the various exits, and Mousa’s about to leave too when he feels a tap on his shoulder.

It’s Jan. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get to tell you this earlier but you’re really good! At football, I mean. I saw you doing tricks when you took my ball and then with the defenders in training.”

His voice is so soft and rushed. It makes Mousa smile, not to mention the actual words he’s saying. “Thank you so much! You’re good too, you almost took me out with your tackle!” A familiar horn blares in the distance. “That’s my parents, sorry! We can talk tomorrow?” Jan nods emphatically, his wild hair flapping about his face as his head bobs up and down. Mousa is excited to see his eagerness. “Great, see you then!”

He waves goodbye and dashes to his car. “How was your day?” his mom asks before he’s even fully entered the vehicle.

He struggles to find the right word, until he finally picks the perfect one. “Promising.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Realism note: Jan (irl, of course) says that he was very shy when he was a child, and didn’t get out of his shell socially until he had lived in Amsterdam for a while, so you’ll be seeing that in this fic until that point.


	4. July 1998 — Nutmegging

 “And remember, we’ll pick you up—"

“—at 2.” Mousa’s dad now makes it a point to bid his son farewell in the exact same way every time, so Mousa now makes it a point to interrupt him every time too. He hops out of the car, jogging excitedly to the pitch to meet everyone else.

After a session of speed training, Mousa has his head thrown back, drinking out of his water bottle, and leaning casually against the goalpost. The moment he rights himself, he sees a ball roll between his feet.  _Dang it, I have just fallen victim to a panna!!_ The perpetrator is Jan, which poses important pros and cons. Pro: It’s Jan, so he won’t be relentlessly bullied and humiliated about it forever. Con: It’s Jan, so he’s embarrassed and doesn’t know why he’s done it. They haven’t talked much besides the day after they met, since Jan isn’t much of a talker. He talks less out loud with his mouth than with his body language, and the latter tells Mousa that Jan is impressed with his football skills, through raised eyebrows and the constant but welcome presence those blue eyes on him when he plays. That makes Mousa very proud, and also feel humbled at the same time, since Jan is really skilled himself. He kind of wishes they’d chat more often, but he understands Jan’s shyness and doesn’t want to push too much for fear of annoying him.

“I heard it’s your birthday today,” Jan says, which is one of the last things Mousa expects him to say. “Is it true?”

“Who told you?” he asks, intentionally not answering yet out of a twinge of suspicion.

“Someone mentioned it earlier but I don’t remember who. That’s my gift to you.” His face breaks out into a smile and he giggles.

Encouraged by the joke and the fact that Jan is even speaking, Mousa plays along. He rolls his eyes exaggeratedly and says, “Wow, thank you, this is the best gift I’ve ever received. A one time deal, but it was such a great experience to receive this panna from King Jan Vertonghen. I will forever treasure this memory.”

Jan laughs hard now, and to Mousa his laugh is contagious, so soon they're both keeling over in laughter, holding their sides. Jan composes himself quickly and gasps out, “How old are you now?”

“Eleven,” Mousa replies, embarrassed by the laughter-induced tears in his eyes. He quickly tries to wipe them away but accidentally pokes himself in the eye, and the yelp he blurts out when he does it sends Jan into another laughing fit.

“I wouldn't have guessed older than eight by the state of that joke,” Jan wheezes though his laughter. “At least I’m older than you.”

“So you’re twelve?”

“No, I’m eleven too.”

“How long have you been eleven?”

“That’s just a roundabout way of asking my birthday.”

Mousa can’t help but roll his eyes at that because Jan does have a point. “Fine then, King Jan. When is your birthday so I can remember to pay homage to your greatness?”

Jan snorts. “April 24th.”

“So you’re only older than me by less than three months!”

“That doesn’t stop me from having authority over you as your supreme leader!” They start giggling again, until the gaffer yells at them that the water break is over and it’s time to play again.

Jan catches him after practice like the first day they met, right before Mousa’s parents pick him up from school, and wishes him a happy birthday. Mousa almost says “you too,” which would have been funny and silly at the same time, but he doesn’t do that. He thinks it’s a habit now, to just barely stop himself from saying silly things around Jan. They kind of stare at each other for a little bit and then Jan adds, “and I enjoyed when you flattened Tim with your rainbow flick, his ego is too big.”

His eyes are wide at Mousa to see how he’ll react, as if he surprised even himself by saying that. He looks relieved when he starts laughing and tells him, “that’s why I did it. I couldn’t help myself. I’m so bad!” They’re laughing uncontrollably again together, and Mousa notices another habit. They can make each other laugh too! How fun!

After the day is over, and Mousa gets some time to himself, he realizes that he’s seen a new side of Jan that he hasn’t previously had an opportunity to see. One that isn’t shy but in fact has a lot of great banter and clever jokes. He feels honored that he’s seen this side. Have the other boys? Are they aware of how funny and cool Jan is? He hopes they do, so he can have friends. He wants to be Jan’s friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Realism note: Both Jan and Mousa have said that they weren’t really friends when they were young, and didn’t get to know each other better until they both lived in Amsterdam, so these beginning few chapters will be short vignettes rather than really long scenes. That’s going to change as the story goes on, though :)


	5. August 1998 — Departing

In just three months, Mousa feels like his football skills have exponentially improved. This training camp has helped him so much, to develop his skills, gain actual experience on a grass pitch instead of dimly lit concrete streets, and become a more clinical player in general. A scout from a local youth club spotted him too, during a particularly impressive practice, and asked his parents if he wanted to play for them during the year. Of course, they agreed, his father accepting the offer especially happily. “What did I say? It’s beginning!” he cried after setting down the phone.

Mousa knows what “it” is. His professional career is beginning — well, youth professional, but still more official than anything he’s ever experienced. Not trainings every day followed by free time, not short practice games followed by water breaks, but school followed by real games. He has no idea what to expect. This is the true challenge, the make-or-break experience, the one that truly determines whether he can actually become a great footballer or not. It’s a daunting challenge, but he’s willing to face it head-on. At this point, he expects no less from himself. He’s given up his family’s summer trips to Mali for this, his old friends and his old house, so it’s game time.

The last day of training camp feels like a goodbye. Some of the boys are leaving the area for the youth teams of big clubs, others are moving out of the area, and still more just don’t want to play football anymore. It’s somber and sad, and everyone plays with a little less vigor and a little more of a weight on their shoulders. Even the gaffer doesn’t want to yell at them like he usually does when they play like this, and it’s quiet all day.

Mousa doesn’t feel like cracking jokes, not even to his new group of friends who like his sense of humor. Some of them are leaving too, and he’ll miss them a lot. He’s coming back next year, during the summer and after the youth team’s regular season, but that isn’t the case for a lot of them. So they play in this half-hearted sort of way, thinking about all those things, until the final whistle blows for the last time this summer.

_Wow_ , Mousa thinks. He’s never felt this sad when the school year ends. _Only the end of football can get me in this type of mood._

He’s packing up his things when he sees Jan doing the same close by. He’s wanted to go to him plenty of times this summer, especially right after their actual conversations, but didn’t want to be weird because he didn’t have an excuse. Now he does, though, and he’s determined to take advantage of it, like he does with all of his opportunities. He heads on over, bringing his stuff, thinking that if anything, he can just say goodbye.

“Hey Jan, are you coming back next year?”

Jan looks up, startled, but his eyes soften when he sees who’s talking to him. He nods. Mousa has noticed by now, after seeing this through the season, that Jan only says what he wants to say, in a short and concise manner. If he can say it without using words, he will. To Mousa, it makes hearing what he has to say even more interesting. “What about you?”

“Yep, I am. I’m going to miss the others who are leaving, though.” He begins to pack his things next to Jan so they can talk a little more before his parents come.

“Me too,” Jan says in his soft voice. The conversation lulls a little after that but Mousa can tell Jan is trying to think of a conversation starter. Mousa beats him to the punch.

“Are you going to play football during the school year? At a youth team or something?”

Jan nods again. “VK Tielrode. You?”

Mousa tries not to be too disappointed, but he can’t help himself. “Yeah but not that one. Have you ever played there before?”

Another nod. “I played there last year.”

“What is it like? This is going to be my first season anywhere.”

Jan’s eyes widen in surprise. “You haven’t ever played before this summer?”

“I mean, not on a real team or anything. I played on the streets with my friends before I moved here.”

“Wow. You’re so good though!”

Mousa blushes almost instantly. He’s never been able to take compliments well, so he stammers out a grateful “thank you.”

“You’ll do good wherever you go because you have a lot of talent,” Jan continues, and Mousa hopes he hasn’t noticed his embarrassing reaction to his compliments. “Playing is scary at first but it gets easier. It’s similar to being here. This camp prepares you well for the regular season. There is some more work so you have to work really hard, but I’m sure you can do it as long as you’re always ready to do your best and give it your all.”

This is the most words Mousa has ever heard come out of Jan’s mouth at once, by far. He is really happy that he’s willing to give him this much advice. “Thanks,” he says and hopes his tone of voice conveys how grateful he is.

“No problem.” Jan glances up at the clock on the nearest wall and Mousa does too.

“Darn, it’s almost 2.” Mousa slings his bag over his shoulders. “I’ll see you next summer then?” He extends his hand out for a handshake. Jan takes it firmly and they shake hands. And with a silent wave that somehow rings with finality, they both leave the changing room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Realism note: For the life of me I can’t find online which youth team Mousa played for before Germinal Beerschot in 2003. So I’m just going to refer to it really vaguely because I’m neither creative nor qualified enough to come up with a Belgian football team name. I also don’t know how playing at a youth team while going to school at the same time would actually work, so I’m just going to pretend the players go to school and then right after school they go to the youth team.


	6. May 2002 — Celebrating

 Mousa is at school when he gets called up to the Belgium U16 squad. He doesn’t know it until he gets home, tired after a long and boring day of school and then football after that with his youth team. The football makes him feel better about the repetition of school, which feels useless. If he’s to become a great footballer, without a shadow of a doubt, why does he have to know how to write equations from word problems and what year an obscure historical event happened?

He opens the door, ready to take a long nap even though he hasn’t had dinner yet. But he hears his mom’s footsteps bounding towards him the minute he turns the doorbell. _Uh oh._

His mom's smile is so wide it almost splits his face when she reaches him. “Sweetheart, you won’t believe this. Or maybe you will, I don’t know. I’m so happy for you. I knew you were always capable and talented, I—"

“Mom, you’re making me too excited. And thank you. But what are you talking about?”

She starts jumping up and down. “Oh, I hope you’re as excited about this as I am. I just got a phone call. You know who it was?”

“ _Who?_ ”

“It was the coach of the national under-16 team. And he wants you to play for them!”

His jaw drops. He’d ask if she was serious, but he knows she’d never joke about this. She grabs his hand and they jump around together in celebration.

“Wait until your father gets home. He’ll be so proud! We’ve always been proud of you but now you know you’ve really really made it! What a wonderful achievement!” They jump and jump until Mousa makes a joke about pulling his hamstring from the jumping and his mom slaps him with a “don’t jinx yourself! How could you say such a terrible thing!”

That night, dinner is a party.

That night, Mousa can’t sleep.

This really is it! Out of all the boys who play football and are younger than 16 in _all_ of Belgium, he was chosen to represent his country! He’s the one who’s good enough to be singled out, all his hard work for the past few years was worth it. It always was, but especially now, it feels like it’s paying off big time. Of course, the work is never over, and he has to further prove himself to keep his spot on the national team. But at the same time, just to get that spot is a huge sense of validation.

It’s time to show the country what he’s made of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know the personalities of Mousa’s parents irl, so I’m just pretending they’d be very excited about this. I know that if I was a mother, I’d be so happy for my kid. Also, this chapter’s super short and maybe it’s really filler but I still wanted to write it idk


End file.
